On Fossils and Fundamentalists

Reconstruction of Tiktaalik rosae by Obsidian Soul (2012)

In 2006, a team of scientists announced their discovery of Tiktaalik rosae, a fossilized creature from 375 million years ago that soon became known as the fishapod, combining as it did features and characteristics of both water-living and land-dwelling animals.  

Tiktaalik was one of those rare and astonishing things: a fantastically well-preserved transitional species (or so-called missing link) and thus a highly significant find. Not surprisingly, therefore, Tiktaalik's discovery was greeted with great excitement within the scientific community and received extensive media coverage. 

In fact, the only people who weren't amazed and captivated by Tiktaalik were those individuals who, for crackpot religious reasons, reject not only the theory of evolution, but even the observable facts upon which the theory of evolution is based. Individuals who describe themselves as young earth creationists. 

Creationism, as the name implies, is the belief that the universe originates from an act of divine creation, as described in Genesis. This includes all life on earth. Whilst some creationists read this biblical creation narrative symbolically and vainly attempt to reconcile it with modern science, others, the so-called young earthers, prefer to take it literally and thus fervently deny evolution and insist that the world cannot be more than 10,000 years old - whatever the empirical evidence may be to the contrary.    

Young earth creationism is thus religious fundamentalism at its most unabashed and its most wilfully stupid. It's tempting to simply look away and pretend that such people are few in number and small in influence. Unfortunately, however, creationism - particularly in the United States - is a genuine concern and presents a very real threat to scientific education and innovation. The Institute for Creation Research, the Creation Research Society, and Answers in Genesis (which, in 2007, established the Creation Museum in Petersburg, Kentucky) have more money and more power than one might like to think.

And so, one is obliged to confront and to challenge such stupidity; not in the hope that one might persuade creationists themselves to examine the known facts and reconsider their views in the light of such, but in the hope that some of those who might be swayed by the pseudo-science of intelligent design and the reassuring rhetoric of the faithful (God loves you and you are made in his image and living in a divinely ordered universe with purpose and meaning, etc.) will dare to keep their minds open and always ask for evidence.

Torpedo the Ark means valuing intellectual integrity over and above religious ignorance. And it means learning to love your inner fish in preference to the Jesus fish ...         

Notes:

Those who are interested in reading clear and concise counterarguments to the sort of nonsense put forward by creationists might like to see John Rennie's article in the July, 2002 edition of Scientific American - click here. 

Alternatively, click here for a transcript of Brian Dunning's podcast 'How to Debate a Young Earth Creationist' (Skeptoid # 65, September 11, 2007).

 

Those who would like to know more about Tiktaalik rosae should visit the University of Chicago website dedicated to this extraordinary fossil: click here.

 

The Case of Rachel Dolezal

The controversial case of Rachel Dolezal continues to fascinate and to challenge many of our ideas and misconceptions concerning race and the cultural construction of identity. 

Ms Dolezal, according to her parents, is a white woman of predominantly European descent who has been wilfully misrepresenting and disguising herself as an African American in order to advance her career and rise to a position of prominence within the black community. For not only did she become a university professor of African studies, specialising in the intersection of gender, race and class, but also president of her local NAACP.  

To be fair, Dolezal grew up in a family with adopted black siblings and attended a school in Mississippi where most of her friends and fellow pupils were black. She also married (and subsequently divorced) a black man with whom she has a child. But, of course, none of this serves to make her African American - anymore than does the deep-tanned skin, the clothing, the jewellery, or the make-up and hairstyling. Biologically speaking, she remains what she has always been: a white woman.

But since when has race ever simply been a question of biology? 

Thus, I have to admit I'm sympathetic to Dolezal and know precisely what she means when she suggests that her case is far more complex and multi-layered than many of her critics (or her parents) understand or wish to concede. This includes, for example, that great paragon of sensitive and sophisticated commentary, Piers Morgan, who brands Dolezal a lying, deluded idiot and is clearly outraged by the thought that race might be reconfigured as a question of style rather than blood and the fear that other essential binaries might in this manner also be problematized.

For Morgan - and he explicitly says as much - race is an either/or issue: you're either black or you're white. And Dolezal is 100% white by birth and breeding and can never be anything but white. Morgan thus brands her carefully crafted and performed identity fraudulent and a mockery; akin to wearing blackface. It would be laughable, he says, were it not so serious, concluding that Dolezal has "committed an appalling act of deception that deserves every heap of abuse now raining down on her head".

Of course, what those such as Morgan really wish us to understand is not that Dolezal is who and what she is no matter what she does, but that we are all born into fixed and fatal identities, regardless of what we learn, accomplish, or become in later life. And this would even include Barack Obama: he might be living in the White House and be the son of a white mother, but, according to those for whom race is an all-determining absolute, he remains a nigger for all eternity.     

In other words, racism begins and ends with a form of death sentence; the belief that colour is so much more than merely skin-deep and blackness entirely unrelated to artifice. 

     

Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay!

Lottie Collins                                               Tara King

Steed's exclamation of pervy joy when he discovers that he has been assigned Agent 69 as his youthful new partner - Ra-boom-de-ay! - is perfectly understandable, as, despite her critics, Miss King, played by the very lovely Linda Thorson, brings a fresh and flirtatious new dynamic to The Avengers. 

She's no Mrs. Peel - but then, who is?

However, it's not the female characters in a sixties spy-fi that I wish to discuss here, but rather the old music hall song to which Steed gives reference when playing on the name Tara.

Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay is one of those silly songs with a long history and an amazing cultural resonance which continues to this day. Although first publicly performed in the American vaudeville show Tuxedo in 1891, the song became widely known in the version sung by Lottie Collins, star of the London music halls, the following year.

Having gained rights to perform the song in England, Collins commissioned new lyrics, a new arrangement, and - crucially - added a dance routine. According to contemporary reviews, she delivered the suggestive verses with deceptive demureness, before launching with real gusto into the bawdy refrain and her celebrated kick dance - an idiosyncratic and rather bizarre version of the cancan. It caused a huge sensation and immediately became her signature tune. 

Personally, however, the version of this song I find most interesting is the one given us by Malcolm McLaren and the Bootzilla Orchestra in 1989, retitled as Waltz Darling and re-imagined in the context of the dance craze known as voguing. 

McLaren's version rather nicely returns the song to its black origins; origins which are often not known or simply not cared about. For Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay doesn't ultimately have its roots in London's music halls, but in a 19th century nightclub-cum-brothel run by Babe Connors in St. Louis, Missouri. And the song belongs as much to Mama Lou, as it does to Lottie Collins.

Note: those interested in viewing McLaren's video for Waltz Darling should click here.

In Defence of Giant Lovers

The Meeting Place (detail) by Paul Day 

POV shot by Stephen Alexander

Whilst I wouldn't say I'm a fan, I certainly admire much of Antony Gormley's sculptural work and share many of his criticisms and concerns to do with public art. 

I think he's right, for example, to argue that many pieces unimaginatively plonked down in our airports, stations, and city centres lack ambition or challenge and fail to address the question of what role statues might play in the 21st century. 

However, I'm disappointed to discover that he seems to particularly despise Paul Day's giant brass figure of two lovers embracing at St Pancras International Station, as I quite like it. The Meeting Place might be crude and ill-proportioned - might, in a word used by Gormley, even be described as crap - but it can still excite fetishistically, even if it fails aesthetically.

For not only does the female figure have very lovely calves and ankles, given emphasis by her high-heeled shoes and tip-toe posture, but she also invites an upskirt peek (although, alas, there's nothing to see). 

And then there's the fact that she's thirty-feet tall, which surely brings out the macrophile in many a man. I don't know why it is that giant women - or, more precisely, the thought of being crushed beneath their feet - is so ingrained within the pornographic imagination, but so it is and Day's sculpture obscenely exploits this fact (whether or not he consciously intended to do so).

So, to conclude, we might say this: that whilst The Angel of the North artistically intrigues as an erection, it doesn't solicit an erection; it makes one wonder, but it doesn't make one want to perv.     

     

On Lenny Henry's Knighthood

Photo of Lenny Henry taken in the 1970s by Graham Gough

See: The Black Country Album, (The History Press, 2012)

Comedian, actor, and all-round good egg Lenny Henry is to receive a knighthood from the Queen and he's clearly thrilled and delighted by the fact, describing how receiving word of it left him feeling as if he had been filled with lemonade.

On the one hand, I'm pleased that he's so chuffed and that his family and friends are proud of him. But on the other hand, I'm disappointed that this highly intelligent man - who is clearly sensitive to the politics of class and race - doesn't seem to have any qualms or reservations about accepting such a dubious honour and thereby lending his support to a system of privilege and patronage. 

Still apparently troubled by his experience as a teenage performer on The Black and White Minstrel Show in the 1970s, one worries that his acceptance on bended-knee of this hugely symbolic award will also retrospectively cause him shame and embarrassment and attract further criticism from more radical members of the black community.

Personally, I have the greatest respect for those individuals - whatever their ethnicity or social background - who, when offered the royal seal of approval and a place within the Established Order, have the integrity to refuse. Revolution always begins with the word No.

Lost in Democracy [A Letter from Greece] - A Guest Post by Maria Thanassa

In June 2013, the then Greek government unilaterally decided to shut down and dissolve the state broadcasting corporation (ERT). No prior public or parliamentary debate on the matter took place, nor was there any consultation with the staff.

The move was partly the result of adherence to the austerity measures imposed (demanding the sacking of some 15,000 state employees) and partly an attempt to end years of state media extravagance. The aim was to eventually re-launch the corporation as a smaller, independent broadcaster whose workings would be more transparent and thus open to much greater scrutiny.

At the time, the closure caused widespread anger and condemnation - viewed as it was as a blow to democracy and an assault upon freedom of expression. But now, two years later and the national TV channel has returned triumphantly to the airwaves.

And yet, when Syriza hail this resurrection of ERT from the electronic ashes as a victory of the people, one cannot help feeling rather nauseous. Especially when - despite its makeover - it's essentially the same corporation that, in the past, was associated with cronyism, corruption, and the squandering of public funds (not to mention dull programming).  

Of course, the past doesn't necessarily determine the future. And maybe it would be wise to defer criticism. But, I have to say, it really does stick in my craw when far-left populists portray themselves as the true defenders of democracy and implicitly characterize any who would challenge their authority as the reactionary enemies of freedom.


Athens-born Maria Thanassa is a teacher of Greek language, literature, and film. She has a Ph. D. from Kings College London and is the founder and director of EKON Arts. She also writes a blog that combines her love of baking, photography, and poetry. Readers who wish to visit Moonshine and Lemon can do so by clicking here.

Maria appears here as part of the Torpedo the Ark Gastautoren Programm and I am very grateful for her contribution and, indeed, for all her help and technical support with this blog. 

The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle

And so Malcolm is revealed to have been deadly accurate in his characterization: Johnny Rotten is the Collaborator, happy to be pimped by Richard Branson and to whore first for Virgin Records and now for Virgin Money. 

Of course, deep down, we knew all along Rotten couldn't be trusted and the evidence has been steadily accumulating over the years. Thus what really interests is what Jamie Reid thinks of his still very powerful designs being used on the newly issued credit cards.

Is this, for Reid, the further continuation of the Swindle: one final attempt to slay the innocence and naivety of fans who so desperately want to believe in the integrity of their rock 'n' roll idols; one last lesson in how music makes you waste your time, your energy and ideas, and indeed what little money you may possess?

Perhaps. And it would be some comfort to think so. But probably Reid has no control over the use made of these images and he can only laugh (or cry) like the rest of us.

Carri on Sex Pistols ...

On the Japanese Love of Cuteness

Is there an important difference within Japanese language and culture between moe and kawaii? Does the former, for example, serve to describe what is emotionally experienced by a subject about objects designated as belonging to the latter as an aesthetic category?

Maybe this distinction could be drawn, but it seems to me that the two terms have become virtually synonymous; for that which is felt to be adorable in Japan is invariably cute, just as those things regarded as sweetly endearing invariably solicit feelings of powerful affection amongst dedicated fans and followers.

These feelings can, of course, become eroticised, but an explicit sexual element is not usually key; the relationship established with the (often fictional, not always human) object that one finds too darling for words, is romantic, ideal, and disneyfied rather than obscene or pornographic.

Having said that, there's obviously a fetishistic aspect to moe and one can't ignore the fact that the figure of the doe-eyed, nubile young girl is central within this genre. One might describe devotees of cuteness as bambisexuals who are more interested in imaginary petting and fantasy perving, rather than the actual penetration of bodies or committing sexual crimes involving real children or live animals.

Whatever we might think of this phenomenon, the fact is that kawaii is increasingly accepted in Japan as part of their culture and national identity; one that incorporates older elements of beauty, refinement, magic and myth into an aesthetic and a sensibility that is playful and postmodern in character.

And, ultimately, cuteness surely has to be preferable to the cruelty and asceticism that characterized imperial Japanese society; given the choice, I prefer Hello Kitty and Harajuku fashion over the way of the warrior. 
  

Masterchimp

Photo from PetsLady.com

In news that must surely delight Karl Pilkington, it's been announced by researchers that chimps possess the intelligence and the skills to cook and that, if given the choice, much prefer roasted veg and baked potatoes over raw food - even if they have to wait for their meals and thus defer gratification. Sadly, what they don't have is the secret of fire.

Such findings suggest that early humans or ape-men may have developed a taste for grilled meat much earlier in their evolution than was previously thought, thereby shifting the timeline for one of the crucial developments in human history - barbecuing. 

The transition from a world of raw food to one in which cooking became standard practice, is widely regarded as important because it allowed human beings to expand their diet and increase population size. It also allowed them to significantly reduce the time previously spent foraging for fruit and nuts and edible plants and thus be free to do other things; to daydream and exchange ideas, for example, or to invent new technologies, thereby enlarging brains and stimulating the development of mind.  

What I find particularly pleasing about this story, however, is that it further challenges notions of human uniqueness. Most gratifying of all is that it's one in the eye of those idiots on Masterchef who really think that what they are doing is so fucking exceptional. Now we know that, given a little encouragement, even a monkey can turn the oven on and serve up dinner on a plate!

Note:

Those interested in the research by Felix Warneken and Alexandra G. Rosati on the cognitive capacities for cooking in chimpanzees should see the June 2015 edition of the Proceedings of the Royal Society B (Volume 202, Issue 1809): click here.

     

Omorashi

Kairi Omorashi by HarukoOmo 
deviantart.com

I suppose most of us have experienced the mildly perverse pleasure of a full-bladder and its eventual release, or felt a gently sadistic joy at witnessing a loved one's discomfort when they desperately want to piss in a public space, but are denied the opportunity to do so (the thought that they just might not make it home amusing and arousing in equal measure).  

But only the Japanese have given this variant form of urolagnia a specific name - omorashi - and have not only developed it as αn idea within the pornographic imagination, but built a fetishistic subculture upon it, thereby allowing like-minded individuals who delight in bladder desperation and panty wetting to exchange stories and images and to meet up if so desired. 

It should be noted, however, that for most devotees of omorashi an exchange of bodily fluids is not desired; they neither wish to piss on others, nor be pissed on by them. Nor do they want to see naked organs in close-up action, or hope that things might develop in an overtly sexual manner. 

For the obsession is ultimately with clothed incontinence and omorashi videos tend to focus on the garments worn by the participants; these invariably include schoolgirl uniforms, but films with women dressed as business professionals - looking dignified and in control, before shamefully succumbing to the need to urinate - are also very popular with certain male viewers. 

Now, whilst we might legitimately have concerns with some of the dubious sexual politics played out within the world of omorashi, it is, I think, relatively harmless and is frequently looked down on as too tame by hardcore fetishists for whom watersports involves far more edgy and unsettling elements. 

However, under current UK legislation I wouldn't be at all surprised to find that even omorashi is categorised as a form of extreme pornography and that peeing your pants has thus been made into a criminal offence!

Note: thanks to political writer and researcher - and defender of civil liberties - Nick Cowen, for his kind advice on this post.